A Hundred Meaningless Words
by Morphine Dementia
Summary: Each and every of those words alone really mean nothing. It's the essence that counts. LaviYu. A collection of drabbles, following the 100 LaviYu themes archive on DA. UPDATES WILL BE SLOW.
1. I : ink

**AN:** And I start off with a super-slow 100 themes ( http : / 100laviyuu-themes(dot)deviantart(dot)com ) _drabble_ challenge in the shape of a titled archive, because I hope it will give me back the will to type actually longer things. (Although I still need to learn drabble. Seriously. They can be like a couple of paragraphs and I used to drabble-call things over 3000 words so long as it's in the stream of consciousness style. Really!) I want to write again! Because I miss all my LaviYu (AHHH IT'S BEEN SO LONG) and I want to write it and update what I am already writing but I just can't seem to find the energy to sit down and type. I can always hope for a break-through, though! And here it is. I will try to write every little entry in one sitting rather than leaving it for later, as I think that's going to work better... I might not include all the things, but if I feel like doing an in-depth overwrite later, I can always try to do a separate fic and just keep this nice and short. Yeah. LET'S TRY THIS.

Happy 11-11-11! Oh and... IT'S THE RABBIT YEAR, TOO. Perfect year to start this. Hope you like!

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_**~ A ~ HUNDRED ~ MEANINGLESS ~ WORDS ~**_

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**~ i n k ~**

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Straight, narrow lines directed by the tip of a pen flow evenly over the fresh parchment. Lavi loves the smell of fresh parchment and ink; writing history down is part of his work, his work that he is more disillusioned about now but still so ambitious and proud of. Ink is what turns history into letters that can be read and passed down. Ink is also merely a tool in the hands of a Bookman, and what everyone put into those pages should ultimately become. No more, no less. Black lines, twisting and curving into words. Ink on paper.

Lavi's not quite fond of that perspective, but he thinks he can manage without completely shutting them off. Becoming a Bookman is his dream, after all. And he's sure having had friends is not that big a hindrance. But he's fond of the ink still, because it's simply amazing. It can tell stories for hundreds of years to hundreds of different people. And it can turn his thoughts into text. Ink is what captures the moment; the description, the stories, the time, all of it. And it obediently shapes into whatever he means it to under his featherpen, and the sound of scribbling along with the faint scent becomes strangely soothing. Because for a moment, it's possible to imagine the war is no more than yet another story... before it's time to go out again.

Sometimes its scent becomes too much on the late evenings when he stays in the library scribbling under an old lamp, sometimes causing certain someones to come looking.

It's just so much ink.

But no, that's not all of it. And Lavi has to smile when he raises his head and recognizes that scowl. It's Yu, Yu who could never be merely ink, as much as Lavi does love ink, as well. But he also loves the black ink lines that are forever trapped under a thin layer of skin on Yu's chest, because it just defines him so unmistakeably. It also tells his story, the tale of his past, to an extent, and his tragic fate, which maybe is still partly going on. Lavi loves tracing his fingers over those lines, but not just because it's ink; it's also because it's _Yu_.

In the end, both of them and their story will still be just some more ink.

But Kanda doesn't love ink at all. Not the one that has his fate forever transcribed onto his body, nor the one that Lavi dips his pen in to write down history, and everyone around with it. He thinks the redhead is too infatuated with it. People can't just be written down, if you ask him. Especially not if you do it during the late hours at night. Then Lavi comes back to sleep smelling of parchment and ink, and that scent reminds Kanda of octopus soup, sealife and all of the things outside the Order that he isn't going to see. It's all a part of history, and he has never read a single history book. There is just no point. As well as to all of that ink.

"You remember it all anyway," he points out grumpily as he casually sits on the parchment, sniffing Lavi's hair, and then slides off the desk where the redhead catches him into his arms, torn between laughing and scolding the other man. But instead of either, he just ends up holding Yu close, close enough to feel his warmth and scent, and nuzzling that lovely black hair. All that black once again reminds him of the ink; the ink which is now smeared all over the parchment, no longer readable, looking like no more than a slightly textured stain.

But now it looks so much more alive.

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**~ e n d ~**


	2. II : scarf

**AN: **happy LaviYu day! :)

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**~ scarf ~**

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Lavi loves scarves, and it's no secret. In fact, it's common knowledge. He loves them in all lengths and colours, and gives street merchants fond looks when they have it on display, even if he's not getting any of it that day. It's a little fascinating how something so simple can be so warm, that's all. And style. Lavi's a mighty jolly fellow and he prefers to look the part, especially if it's practical as well.

Not everyone thinks the same way, of course.

"Doesn't that scarf get in the way?" Kanda asks as they head to the train station after a mission, and tugs on the end of the battered accessory. There are a few holes and stains on it, and, in Kanda's absolute and amazing opinion, it's hardly presentable. And Exorcists should look presentable, yes?

Lavi makes a hardly presentable face, the pout only maybe fitting a spoiled child. "Doesn't that hair get in the way?" he asks in return and tugs on Kanda's ponytail, like the mature, presentable Exorcist that he is.

"No," Kanda says superiorly, "because it's a part of me."

The redhead beams. "So is my scarf."

Kanda grabs the ends of that scarf and proves Lavi wrong by choking him.

It doesn't take a genius to notice that Lavi loves scarves. Kanda is not by any means a genius, so maybe that's why he catches on so quickly. When Lavi's old white scarf gets so holey that it's barely holding together and its place is on display in the Foster Home For Scarf Veterans on his birthday, Kanda approaches him with a paper bag, looking like a midschooler who's just found a tooth in his bread. He grumbles something that must be a slightly more offensive equivalent of "happy birthday" and tries to piss off, but Lavi catches him by the ponytail and holds him steady while he unwraps the First Ever Gift From Yu, nevermind that they may or may not have a Thing going on for a while now.

It's a new scarf, coloured bright orange. Lavi's favourite colour, and also something that will make him shine like a Christmas carrot, but he cares little. There's an excited yelp, and he's hugging the daylights out of Kanda. Kanda returns it by strangling the redhead, now with the new scarf he's just bought for him.

It's practical after all, Kanda thinks.

Year after year, it becomes a tradition. Kanda will give Lavi a new scarf and in return get his old one, claiming it's for polishing Mugen and denying any kind of sentimental value. It's not entirely true, though; when Lavi's away on a different mission for a longer while, he can pull that old, tattered cloth from under his mattress and feel Lavi's presence, if just for a moment. Kanda's a mighty instinctive kind of a guy, and unlike taste, his sense of smell is quite excellent. And the piece of fabric has a rather strong Lavi scent to it, having been on him for a year with small breaks and maybe a few washings. The scent fades a little over time, but it's still enough. It makes being apart a little easier.

It's just a bit of a shame that once a day comes that Lavi leaves, whether it's the Order or this world, the scent will no longer be renewed. It will fade and fade and finally fade away, leaving nothing. No comforting illusion of a presence, no memory of that familiar aroma. If Kanda's the first to go, though, it will mean that Lavi will never wear a new scarf. It might be a small memorial, but it's meaningful to the both of them. It's no longer just a scarf anymore, after all. It's also a bond. And, well, the new Bookman won't have any need for it anymore anyway.

Kanda thinks it's stupid to plan ahead when you live in a war. There is no point to expect things nor take things slow when you can die tomorrow. Lavi sometimes does it anyway, because intends to live Forever, or at least as close to it as possible, even if it means developing Panda eyes like the old man. Either way, they're not all that concerned for the Gloomy Future, and continues their scarf-ful adventure.

One day, Lavi presents Kanda with a scarf as well, announcing that it's very important for him to wear it. It's a little funny, white and with fluffy ends, but Kanda accepts it anyway. If Lavi loves scarves, he might as well tolerate it, too. Maybe even exchange it every now and then to enjoy the always fresh scent of the other.

It's not just a scarf, after all. It's warmth that ties them both together.

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**~ e n d ~**

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